Torment
by Piper Sargasso
Summary: Mulder and Scully investigate a home haunted by malevolent spirits. Complete
1. Default Chapter

Torment

By Piper Sargasso

Disclaimer: Mulder, Scully and the Gunmen are the 

property of CC, 1013, etc. No infringement intended.

A/N: HUGE thanks to Char for the supersonic beta! 

Chocolate showers with cherries on top to you, 

Sweetie.

****************************************************

~ Prologue ~

Camden Pennsylvania

October 27, 1997

At first glance, the two-story, red brick house was 

almost the exact replica of Scully's dream home. 

The location was ideal, settled on the outskirts of 

a small town where the nearest neighbor could be 

seen, yet not heard. Perfect, quaint little place 

to raise a family. Ivy crept up the masonry, 

stretching over the cream-colored shutters. It made 

the outside of the huge house look cozy and 

inviting. The landscaping was immaculate; little 

blooming clusters of color dotting the lawn at 

intervals, creating a harmonic lushness with the 

pruned bushes and weeping willows. The cream-

colored, wraparound porch was a new addition, which 

complimented the structure's early 1800's design. 

Adirondack rocking chairs, stand-alone hammocks and 

a small child's table cluttered with coloring books 

and crayons adorned the porch, speaking of the laid 

back easiness of the family that lived there.

The place was so tranquil, so picture perfect. 

Mulder and Scully let themselves inside using the 

key they'd acquired from the local PD. The inside 

was just as tasteful and comfortable as the 

outside, with spacious rooms and cheerful décor. 

The colors were warm, the antique furniture 

mingling with contemporary; rugs lay out atop the 

polished wooden floors. The overall effect was one 

of well lived-in warmth, as if the house itself 

were a living, breathing thing, welcoming the 

agents with open arms.

This all changed the moment they stepped inside the 

kitchen. 

"Oh my God."


	2. Chapter One

~ Chapter One ~

At the Academy, they train you to deal with violent 

crime scenes. You are taught to cope with the 

psychological aspects of a case and focus on the 

investigation with a rational, detached mind.

There are, however, certain cases that are so 

appalling they remain in your memory forever. 

Donnie Pfaster would never leave her, nor would the 

faces -- or hands -- of his victims. The Peacock 

family, their mother with her filthy rolling cart 

beneath the bed, existing solely to propagate. 

Scully was sure this would be no different from any 

of those.

They took care walking into the kitchen, a brick 

affair original to the structure. Marks drawn on 

the floor indicated where the bodies had lain, 

unusual, organic shapes necessary to encase the 

large pools of blood surrounding the victims. These 

same pools lay dried and brown on the floor.

"Why hasn't the cleaning crew been out here?" 

Scully asked.

"They were here two days ago."

She cocked her head at him and gestured at the 

blood-splattered cabinets, table and chairs. It 

looked like a slasher film was in progress. "Why 

hasn't this all been cleaned then?" 

"They, uh, didn't stay. It seems that whatever 

presence is in this house didn't make them feel 

exactly welcome."

She rolled her eyes. "Whatever you say, Mulder. I 

still think there's nothing supernatural about this 

crime. People _do_ murder other people every day, 

you know, and there's nothing paranormal about 

that."

He grimaced at the scene. "I don't think a person 

could be capable of this, Scully. Not alone and not 

without leaving some trace of themselves behind. 

The family didn't just sit and wait their turn 

while they watched the others die."

"Well," she said after a moment, "There's not much 

we can do in here since the bodies and evidence 

have already been removed. I say we just shut the 

door on this room and get on with 

our...investigation."

The investigation, as it were, was unconventional 

to say the least. The special circumstances of the 

case, namely the lack of evidence and the brutal 

manner in which the family was dispatched, not to 

mention the anomalies found within the bodies 

themselves, had caught Mulder's attention as soon 

as he heard about it.  

Mulder unloaded several black cases of video and 

audio equipment, along with machines that measured 

temperature changes, infrared heat and 

electromagnetic fields. All were on loan from an 

acquaintance of Mulder's, a professor of 

parapsychology who followed their work and offered 

assistance any time it was needed. The Gunmen 

supplemented the video and audio equipment. 

Mulder set the seven camcorders up in seven 

different places: the kitchen, the living room, 

dining room, poolroom, upstairs hallway, sitting 

room and at the mouth of the corridor leading to 

the kitchen. In the meantime, Scully chose the 

spare bedroom at the end of the hall upstairs and 

settled herself into the bureau and adjoining 

bathroom. With any luck, Mulder would figure out 

they were wasting their time there and decide to 

leave before the weekend. 

She wasn't holding her breath.

The bedroom had a very cottage-y feel to it, with 

Waverley-esque wallpaper and sage bedding with 

throw pillows. An antique nightstand sat to the 

left of the bed with a pitcher and basin that 

looked older than she was. The curtains were light 

and airy, with tones of rose and sage intermingling 

in the tasteful print. Rugs on the polished wood 

floor lent the room even more comfort. It was as 

perfect as the rest of the house. 

She was inspecting a wardrobe standing in the 

corner when she heard it -- the whispering. She 

couldn't make out any words, but it sounded like 

two people in a heated argument. _Don't be _

_ridiculous_, she told herself. _No one's in the house _

_but Mulder and me_. She checked the hallway to see 

if Mulder was messing around. It was empty, so she 

went to the window to see of a tree branch was 

scraping against the side of the house. The nearest 

tree branch was several feet away. Finally, she 

decided it had to be the pipes. Of _course_ it was 

the pipes. In a house that old, one was bound to 

hear strange noises.

She wrapped her arms around herself, shivering from 

the cold draft coming through the room and stepped 

out to find her partner. 

~*~

Mulder, as it happened, just reached the top of the 

stairs when she left her bedroom. She tried not to 

laugh at the ridiculously large camera around his 

neck (_Compensating for something, Mulder?_ her mind 

supplied. She fought back a grin) and the new toy 

attached to his hand.

"Staked out a room already?" he called out to her, 

barely taking his eyes off the apparatus. 

"What on Earth is _that_?" 

"This one is called a Gaussmeter. It measures 

electromagnetic fields. And this one," he pulled 

another instrument out of his pocket, "is an IR 

thermometer. It measures infrared heat and locates 

cool spots."

She raised an eyebrow. "Mulder, you do realize 

there are electromagnetic fields everywhere, right? 

Not to mention the fact that there are going to be 

cool spots all over the house, since it's October 

and the place is almost 200 years old."

"Killjoy."

"Sucker."

"So, which one is my room?"

"I guess it's up to you. I took the only guest 

room, but that still leaves the two girl's bedrooms 

and the master suite."

He pulled a face. "Never was one for lavender. Or 

unicorns, for that matter. Looks like I'm taking 

the master."

She followed him around for a few minutes while he 

did a walk-through of the house with the two 

monitors, commenting on the slightest changes and 

writing them all down in a tiny notebook in his 

other pocket. It didn't take long before she lost 

interest and went to explore the rest of the house 

on her own.

It truly was an amazing house, and it couldn't have 

been more 'her' than if she'd chosen and decorated 

it herself. _Sabrina Talbot and I could've been _

_kindred spirits_, she mused. On the other hand, she 

could see where one's imagination could get away 

from them in this place. They hadn't been there for 

more than two hours before the creaks and groans of 

house settling began to sound more like voices and 

whispers. Couple this with the age of the house, 

the murders and the fact that the nearest neighbor 

was hundreds of yards away, and it was easy to see 

where stories of a haunting could run rampant.

Scully herself wondered if she could stand to live 

here alone, knowing what had happened here. Could 

she cook, entertain, make tea in the same space 

three-fourths of a family was brutally murdered? 

Shivering at the thought, she admonished herself 

for her irrational, yet all too human uneasiness.  


	3. Chapter Two

~ Chapter Two ~   

Scully tossed in her unfamiliar bed. Scenes 

unfolded all around her, red and terrible and 

teeming with screams: 

Jonathan, Sabrina and Clarissa Talbot all standing 

in the kitchen. The smell of burning sage fills the 

air. Their mouths move, but no sound can be heard 

over the rushing noise in Scully's ears. The three 

figures clasp hands, forming a circle. Rosaries 

dangle from each joint pair; one made of rose 

petals, one made of sandalwood. The newest one is 

white, its young owner possessing it since First 

Communion. They are precious little protection for 

what they have unwittingly invoked.

Swirling, swirling. There's more anger in this room 

than Scully thought possible, more concentrated 

malevolence than could be imagined. So much the 

room seems to pulse red with it.

But no, it isn't the house. It is the house, but 

the red...the hot, screaming red...

It's blood. And they're dying.

~*~   

She woke with a scream strangling in her throat, so 

desperate to escape it felt like her heart was 

going to explode. Sweating and panicked as she was, 

she almost didn't see the misty figure at the foot 

of the bed, fading into the darkness of the room.

Almost. 

"It's nothing," she told herself. "It was just a 

bad dream."

Unbeknownst to her, three doors down, her partner 

was having the exact same nightmare.

~*~

By 5:28 in the morning, it was obvious that Scully 

wasn't going to be getting back to sleep. She 

groaned in frustration and sat up, deciding a dip 

in the heated pool downstairs would be just the 

thing to clear her muzzy head. Mulder should have 

still been asleep, so there was little chance of 

him walking into the poolroom to see her swimming 

in a makeshift bikini of bra and panties. She 

wrapped herself in a bath robe and headed 

downstairs.

Scully looked up at the glass ceiling making up the 

recent enclosure, noting the faintest light coming 

through. The effect was like being in a greenhouse 

-- an exceptionally nice greenhouse, with the 

clearest jewel of a swimming pool situated in the 

middle and wicker furniture surrounding it.

Ignoring the video camera set up in one corner of 

the room, she disrobed and made a clean dive into 

the pool. The water was invigorating. She thought 

about the dream, wondered what it meant, then 

chided herself for being silly. It didn't have to 

_mean_ anything -- it was a dream; a product of 

investigating this case, seeing the crime photos, 

familiarizing herself with the facts relating to 

the family and their deaths.

Just one more lap to go. She was almost finished, 

contemplating the coroner's notes she'd read on the 

way up from DC as she swam when something from 

beneath her pulled at her waist. Startled, she made 

an instinctive gasp before being pulled under.

Blackness. That's all she could comprehend. And the 

tight, suffocating pain in her air-deprived lungs 

as she twisted and flipped beneath the surface. It 

still had her, holding her under. The pain in her 

chest became so great, she thought it would explode 

from the force of it. She tried to keep her head  

(how long can a person live without air? How long 

before their lungs collapse?), but the longer she 

went without air, the longer she felt the invisible 

force tugging at her with unbelievable strength, 

the more panicked she became.

And then, for no reason at all, it let her go.

She struggled to the edge of the pool and pulled 

herself up with trembling arms_. Oh my God, oh my _

_God_, she thought. _What the hell_ was _that?_ She 

pulled her legs out of the water like it burned her 

and grabbed her robe. 

Scully left the room backwards, never letting her 

eyes leave the pool. Not even a ripple betrayed its 

calm now. It was as if the thing had turned to 

glass. Shivering, she rushed out into the hall. Was 

someone in there with her and she just didn't know 

it? It was possible -- her thoughts were all over 

the place and maybe she just wasn't as observant as 

she could've been. But who could be in the house 

besides Mulder? 

Mulder. No, she wouldn't even think about it. It 

was crazy! Mulder would never hurt her.

Regardless of her thoughts, or perhaps because of 

them, she yelped when she came in contact with a 

solid form in the hallway.

"Scully? What's wrong?"

She backed away from her partner. "What?"

He stepped closer, a concerned look on his face. "I 

asked what's wrong? What happened?" He looked over 

her shoulder in the direction she just came from. 

She didn't answer, just stood there shaking. _He's _

_dry_, she thought. _It couldn't have been him because _

_he's dry_. Mulder's eyes narrowed. "Did you just 

come from the pool?"

She nodded.

"Was something in there with you?"

She shivered involuntarily. It was nothing, she 

told herself. Lack of sleep and an imagination 

fueled by ghost stories. She'd lost her 

orientation, that's all. Nothing more. 

"No," she answered in a cracking voice. Clearing her 

throat, she forced her voice to sound normal. "I was 

just swimming and got disoriented."

He looked dubious. "Scully, it's okay. You can tell 

me--"

"Look, Mulder, I really need to take a shower and 

get to the coroner's office."

He said nothing more, letting her pass without 

comment. As soon as she was out of sight, he made 

his way toward the poolroom. 


	4. Chapter Three

~ Chapter Three ~

Scully pulled the surgical gloves off and sat on 

the stool beside the last corpse, frowning. Before, 

she'd hoped the ME on the case had made a mistake. 

It just wasn't likely that three healthy people of 

varying ages could die of heart failure on the same 

night at about the same time. The odds of it 

happening were astronomical.

And yet, that's exactly what it appeared happened. 

Jonathan Talbot, aged 46, Sabrina Talbot, aged 42 

and Clarissa Talbot, aged sixteen -- all showed 

signs of massive heart failure. It was astounding. 

Scully was grateful the youngest of the Talbot 

family, the six year-old named Megan, hadn't been 

present at the time of the murders.

She stood, head reeling from her discoveries, and 

covered Clarissa's mangled remains.

~*~ 

Mulder greeted her at the door later that night, 

eyes flashing and hair in disarray. "Scully, you 

have to see this."

Bang, bang, bang 

"How long has that been going on?" she asked. 

He shook his head. "It started as soon as you 

pulled into the driveway. Everything was quiet 

while you were gone."

He led her into the living room and instructed her 

to sit down on the couch. "Watch this," he said, 

and his words were punctuated by the sound of 

someone running upstairs. Mulder looked up at the 

ceiling, then back at Scully. "I got this out of 

the camcorder in the poolroom after you left. 

Thought you might want to see for yourself."

He pressed play. The first few seconds of lead were 

nothing but the room itself. When she saw herself 

enter the room, take off her robe and dive in, she 

still saw nothing out of the ordinary. Half-

expecting some flirty comment about her choice of 

swimwear, she glanced over at him. 

His face was grave.

After about three minutes of watching herself swim, 

Scully started to wonder what it was she was 

supposed to see. The tape didn't disappoint; 

suddenly, there were tiny orbs of light flitting 

lazily around the poolroom. She swam on, oblivious 

to her visitors. 

"That can't be what it looks like," she breathed 

out. "It's impossible. A trick of the light."

The number of orbs increased, moved around as if 

agitated. Then, she watched herself go under. She 

stayed below the surface for what seemed like 

forever, but it was a short time compared to how it 

felt to experience it.

"It's real, Scully," he said in answer to her 

denial. "I went in to take the tape out and replace 

it with a new one. While I was there, I took some 

readings. They were off the chart. Didn't you 

notice the room was freezing? The foul odor?"

She shook her head. "It's impossible." She didn't 

sound so convinced this time.

They were silent a moment. "What did you find out?" 

he asked.

She sighed. "They were a mess, Mulder. I'm more 

inclined to think they died of blood loss from the 

numerous gashes in their bodies, but I can't deny 

the ME's original findings were accurate."

"Their hearts?"

She nodded. "I've never seen anything like it. I'm 

not even sure _what_ to think. There has to be some 

sort of rational explan---" She was cut off by the 

sound of banging on the walls, followed by furious 

whispers coming from nowhere. A family picture flew 

off the wall, the glass scattering across the wood 

floor.

"Mulder?"

He crossed the room and stood next to her, eyes 

narrowed. "Just be still," he whispered to her.  

"Daaay-naaa," a voice in an obscene imitation of 

her sister's wailed above them. "Helllp meee." This 

was followed by an evil cackling, still in a 

disgusting parody of Melissa's sweet voice.

Scully shook hard, tears welling in her eyes. How 

could it know about Missy? "What the hell _is_ this 

thing, Mulder?"

He wrapped his arms around her possessively, 

glaring up at the ceiling. 

"Get your stuff, Scully," he ground out. "We're 

getting out of here."

Another cackle. Scully trembled uncontrollably; 

Mulder guided her up the stairs as fast as they 

could climb. The air seemed to thin and grow colder 

with each step. When they reached the top, Mulder 

turned to face his shaken partner. "You go on and 

pack. I'll meet you in five minutes."

"Mulder don't!"

"It'll be faster. I have all that equipment--"

"No," she said flatly. 

He searched her face; saw her wide, haunted eyes. 

He'd never seen her so terrified. "Okay. But we 

need to hurry." She gave him a half-hearted snort 

as if to say, "Are you kidding me?"

They started down the hall, trying to ignore the 

chill in the air settling itself deep inside their 

bones. With no other warning, doors began slamming 

shut up and down the corridor, one at a time. 

It knew they were leaving.

"Mulder?" Scully gripped his arm. 

"Just keep going, Scully," he said. She wasn't 

comforted by the uncertainty in his voice. They 

reached the darkened doorway to her room, the sweet 

guest room with its floral wallpaper and sage-

colored sheets. She liked it so much just 

yesterday. The fact that this was the only door 

left standing open was not lost on either of them. 

They looked at the open room, then at each other. 

Something wasn't right.

Before anyone could comment, she felt strong arms 

wrench her away from Mulder, the same strong 

invisible force that had pulled her under the water 

this morning. It threw her into the room and 

slammed the door behind her.

"Scully!" Mulder yanked at the door, pounding into 

it, doing anything to try to get it open. 

"No. _No_!" he heard her shout. And then, there was 

nothing but the sound of her screams. It was worse 

than a nightmare. He bellowed her name again, 

throwing all of his weight against the door.

Inside, it swirled around her, striking at her from 

all sides. She was powerless against it; all she 

could do was guard her face from the attack as best 

she could. Wet trails chilling on her cheeks and 

forehead told her she wasn't doing such a great 

job. Slicing, ripping, scratching. It seemed the 

torment would never end. 

And then just as suddenly as it began, it stopped. 

She rolled into a ball on the floor, breath 

hitching in pain and terror. How could any of this 

happen? Tears streaked down her face, mingling with 

fresh blood. Two days ago, she'd laughed at 

Mulder's crazy ghost theory. Then again, two days 

ago this sort of thing was a scientific 

impossibility in her world. Her body shook with the 

force of her tears. Somewhere in the back of her 

mind she realized she was even more vulnerable in 

this position.  

"Oh my God. Scully." Mulder's voice sounded a 

thousand miles away. She was vaguely aware of him 

pulling her into his arms, warm arms, safe arms, 

rocking her in the cold darkness. How could they be 

warm? She wondered if she herself would ever be 

warm again.

"It'll never let us leave," she mumbled in a shaky 

voice that sounded foreign to her ears. "It'll 

never let us go."

"Shh," he said, still rocking her. He stretched up 

to the nightstand and flipped on the lamp, 

upsetting their position for a moment. The room was 

bathed in golden light. He twisted back to their 

original arrangement and brushed her hair away from 

her face. "Look at me for a minute."

She did. And her bottom lip trembled seeing the 

look on his face. "That bad?" she asked.

Fury flashed in his eyes. "I've read about cases 

like this, but I never thought... Jesus, Scully." 

Cuts and scratches littered her face and arms. Her 

clothes were ripped in places, blood from the 

shallow abrasions coloring the fabric. He gathered 

her into a tight embrace. 

All was silent. They wondered how long it would 

last.

It was Mulder who moved first. "Hey," he probed 

gently. "Go ahead and grab your stuff. We can't 

stay here."

She nodded and stood on shaky legs. He watched as 

she threw clothes and toiletries into the suitcase 

in a haphazard fashion, even leaving some things 

behind in her wake. He picked up those items and 

tossed them in. 

"That's the last of it," she announced and shut the 

case. 

"Good. Let's go."

She followed him down the hall, noting that he 

passed by his own room. "What about your--"

"Forget it. There's nothing in that room that 

matters to me." He was already wearing his favorite 

Knicks t-shirt, but would gladly have left it 

behind if it were still in his bag. Clothes could 

be bought again. There was no way he was subjecting 

either of them to this house of horrors for another 

moment -- not after it almost killed Scully. 

Investigation be damned.

"We'll still have to gather the equipment, Mulder. 

You might as well go back and get your things."

The EM meter, such a constant companion to him now, 

felt heavy in his pocket. It was to be all he would 

take with him. "To hell with the equipment," he 

growled. "I'll replace it."

But when they reached the door, it was locked shut. 

From the inside. They yanked and wriggled the 

handle, but nothing budged. Mulder threw a chair 

against the windowpanes lining the front door. The 

chair's leg broke off; the windows remained intact. 

Desperately, they attempted to smash every window 

in the front of the house. 

Scully rammed a statuette against the last window 

they hadn't tried. It wasn't working. She pummeled 

the window, each blow weaker than the last. All the 

emotions she'd been holding inside, all the 

desperate need to deny what was really going on, 

all the failure, failing Mulder, failing herself -- 

they broke inside her. Melissa. It knew about 

Melissa. 

She stopped. Then she hit the ground hard, dropping 

the statuette to the ground as she went. It didn't 

exist anymore. "It won't let us leave," she said in 

a broken whisper. 

He turned around so she couldn't see his face. 

"No," he said. 

"Do they do this, Mulder?" 

"I don't know. I've never heard of anything 

like...this."

What else was there to say?

~ * ~

"I think I know why there's so much concentrated, 

psychic activity in the kitchen," he said, idly 

flipping a small, leather book back and forth in 

his hands. 

Scully sat up on the floor. "Why?"

"It's all the blood. It's attracted to it. I think 

it's drawing strength from it."

The thought made her stomach flip. "Do you think 

it's a coincidence that the family was murdered in 

the kitchen?"

He thought about it a moment. "I wish I could say 

it was, but I don't think so."

"What's that in your hand?"

"Not sure. I haven't had a chance to look at 

it."

"Where'd it come from?"

"I tracked some energy from the kitchen to the 

dining room just before you got back. Once I got 

there, the energy just seemed to -- hover -- over a 

small chest in there. I looked inside and found 

this, but all that noise started up again and I was 

distracted, so I put it in my pocket." He scowled. 

"I don't like that this thing acts up around you. 

It's like it's attaching itself to you or 

something."

"Mulder, I think maybe we've both overreacted 

here--"

"Are you _kidding_? Do you think you almost drowned 

yourself? Do you think all these disturbances the 

neighbors have reported --these murders -- are 

imagined? Everything was fine until you got back, 

Scully. It's like your presence provokes the damn 

thing."

She pinched the bridge of her nose. "Look, I don't 

know any more than you do, okay? I just want to go 

home."

He reached out to touch her hand. "I know." After a 

few moments of silence, save for the distant 

rattles and bangs in the house, he spoke again. 

"It's a journal." 

He held the book up for her inspection, opened to 

the first page. 

Written in a clear, tight hand were the words, 

'Journal of Sabrina Talbot'.

He turned the page and read aloud.


	5. Chapter Four

~ Chapter Four ~

~July 16, 1997 (3:21 PM)~

I've never kept a journal before, not even as a 

teenager. Jonathan seems to think it'll calm my 

nerves and help put things in perspective.

I don't think he believes that these things are 

happening. How could he? He's off at work all day 

while I'm at home dealing with -- whatever this is. 

I have no doubt by "putting things in perspective," 

he means that I'll look back on what I've written 

on these pages and feel ridiculous. Overreacting.

I wonder what he'll say when he sees the plates in 

the kitchen, standing on end by themselves on the 

countertops.

~July 24th  (7:43 AM)~

Restless night last night. Whispers in my ears the 

entire evening, ceasing only when I got out of bed. 

Jonathan slept like a log, unaffected. 

~(11:36 AM)~

Cleaning upstairs bathroom when whispers and 

giggling began again, this time sounding further 

away. I decided to follow the sound. Led me to the 

spare bedroom at the end of the hall, which hasn't 

been touched other than the occasional airing since 

Aunt Chloe stayed two summers ago. Door stuck, but 

several loud voices carrying on behind it. It 

sounded like a party was going on -- I could even 

swear I heard the tinkling of glasses.

Writing this in the café in town. Won't go back 

into the house until after I pick Clarie up from 

school. 

~July 30th (5:08 PM)~

Things have become quiet. Perhaps whatever this 

thing is has moved on, or become dormant. Either 

way, I'm determined to find out whatever I can 

about this house. We've lived here for eight years 

-- this is the only home Meg has ever known. Why the 

sudden disturbances after eight years of peace? 

More importantly, why has it stopped now?

I can't shake the feeling that it's only waiting, 

crouching in the shadows. Watching us. I doubt 

we've seen the last of it.

~August 13th (2:43 AM)~

Nearly two weeks of silence, and now this! I don't 

care what Jonathan says; there is something in this 

house. Meg only just went back to sleep, and it was 

no easy task. I would've moved her into our 

bedroom, but Jonathan wouldn't have it. The door is 

open -- hers is too. It's the best I can do. 

I woke up hearing her screams coming from her room 

and ran down the hall. Her window was pulled all 

the way open -- something I would never allow, not 

during a storm like this -- and the curtains were 

whipping in and out of the room. She was 

hysterical, talking about a lady in her room. She 

said the lady tickled her awake, then ripped her 

covers off and laughed at her. When I asked her 

where the lady was now, she just sobbed.

Jonathan, in his infinite wisdom, declared that it 

was just a dream when I told him about it and 

rolled back over to sleep. I wish _I_ could sleep.

~August 23rd (3:54 PM)~

Banging and chatter worse than ever, especially in 

the kitchen. I've done some research on the house 

and found out some interesting things. The house 

was originally built in 1806. An older man built it 

and brought his new wife to live there. It was 

passed down within the family until most of it 

burned down in 1923. Only the kitchen, the room 

above it and the servant's staircase remained. The 

property was sold and the new owners brought it 

back to its original state with the addition of the 

porch.

I'm not sure what this means, but it seems odd that 

the kitchen is the coldest room in the house, and 

the place where most of the disturbances started 

and occur. The spare room where I heard the 'party' 

is above the kitchen.

(8:21 PM)

Decided to eat out when knife kept flying out of my 

hand while trying to cut chicken. 

~September 4th (8:01 AM)~

No one in this house has rested well in over three 

weeks. Meg has been crying every night about the 

lady. She's taken to tucking her in after I leave 

the room then yanking her covers off and tickling 

her again. I never catch her, but Meg is terrified 

to sleep in her room. We let her sleep with us the 

past few nights, but she fights sleep as long as 

possible.  

Jonathan claims something brushed against him in 

the shower yesterday -- several times. He said it 

was like someone was in there with him, touching 

him. He thought it was me at first, then opened his 

eyes and no one was there. I was in town, at the 

grocery store.

Clarie hears the voices all the time now, and says 

she's missing things in her room. She blamed Meg at 

first and began locking her door, until she started 

losing things the moment she put them down and 

turned her back. 

The girls are doing poorly in school. Meg's teacher 

called me in day before yesterday to tell me she 

falls asleep in class. Clarie is scatterbrained; 

three of her teachers also let me know her grades 

are slipping and she's falling asleep in class. 

The banging and chattering noise in this house is 

unbelievable. I've called Father LeCompt in to 

bless the house. 

~September 6th (7:48 PM)

Things were remarkably quiet while Father LeCompt 

was here. It was twice as bad after he left.  Smell 

of roses filled the air for the first hour or so 

after the blessing, then a foul odor I can't even 

describe. 

~September 20th (2:10 PM)~

This thing seems to be focusing on Clarie now. She 

can't sleep for all the activity going on in her 

room. Things are moving in front of our very eyes 

now. Today, her glass was knocked out of her hand 

at breakfast. This is a common occurrence now. 

Whatever it is, I think it's tired of being subtle. 

Yes, that was sarcasm. I've found it rather 

comforting lately.        

The girls are becoming even more withdrawn, grades 

slipping further. Meg now wets the bed every night.

~September 22nd (9:32 PM)~

Just left Clarie's room. We were nearly finished 

with her homecoming preparations when something 

slapped her hard across the face. The bright red 

mark still hasn't faded. She's so upset that she 

has decided not to go to the dance after all. 

Jonathan told her date she wasn't feeling well, 

said the boy looked dejected, but understood.  

I could swear the house was laughing at us. It 

wasn't anything I could hear, but I felt it. Why is 

it trying to hurt my baby? What the hell does it 

want from us?

(11:00 PM)

Have spent the last hour arguing with Jonathan 

about what to do. The shouting seemed to rile this 

-- spirit, for lack of a better term -- up. Banging 

and voices increased -- it seemed to be happy.

~September 24th (10:24 AM)~

Clarie was tripped and took a tumble down the 

stairs on her way to school this morning. 

Thankfully wasn't hurt, just very rattled. It's 

clear the malicious intent is entirely focused on 

her now. I took her to Jackie's house to rest and 

called in her absence at the school. Jackie called 

within minutes of my getting in the door at 

suspiciously quiet home to tell me about a racket 

like the house was falling to pieces that started 

ever since I left. It must've followed Clarie 

there. Poor little Meg is scared for her sister, 

but has told me that the lady in her room now 

visits her when her father and I are asleep. 

Very concerned about this malevolence directed 

toward Clarie. I checked out some books at the 

library and did some research on the Internet on 

poltergeists and other real-life disturbances. I 

refuse -- _refuse_ -- to even think for a moment 

that she's doing this to herself through some sort 

of psychokinetic, teenage angst. It's ridiculous in 

the extreme, not to mention a flawed theory 

considering the fact that this thing made itself 

known to me long before bothering the rest of my 

family.   

~October 10th (3:30 PM)~

Noise almost constant now and attacks on Clarie and 

now Jonathan becoming frequently more violent. 

Request for exorcism from the church laughed at. 

"It just isn't done anymore," Father LeCompt says. 

"This isn't the Dark Ages, Mrs. Talbot."

He suddenly has quite the busy schedule, and no 

longer has time to counsel my family or come in for 

another blessing. I'm afraid we'll have to do this 

on our own.

~October 21st (12:37 PM)~ 

Studied as much on the subject of exorcism as could 

get my hands on. Many sources suggest that Clarie, 

as a subject of spirit's attentions, should be 

present. She insists on being there anyway -- wants 

to be a part of banishing this thing. I sent Meg 

away to Jackie's house until we're sure it's gone 

for good.

After a simple house blessing, we'll gather in the 

kitchen for the ritual. I'm scared as hell, but it 

must be done. Just hope to God involving Clarie in 

this isn't a dangerous mistake.

~*~

There were no entries after that.  


	6. Chapter Five

~ Chapter Five ~

"My God," Scully croaked out. 

Mulder's face looked drained. "She must've been 

pretty desperate. Exorcisms are nothing to play 

around with." He shook his head. "She should've 

known the consequences."

"What consequences?"

"More often than not, they do nothing but anger the 

spirits they're meant to drive out. Telling them to 

leave because 'Christ compels them' pisses them off 

royally."

Something in Scully's mind clicked. "You know, I 

had a strange dream last night about the Talbots."

Mulder straightened up. "You did?"

She nodded, looking at the window. "Yeah. It was, 

uh...pretty gruesome, actually. They were standing in 

the kitchen with rosaries in their hands when this 

tremendous hatred filled the room. I've never 

sensed anything so angry before in my life."

Mulder uttered a curse. "It's the house."

"What?"

"It's the house! It's the house, Scully! It's -- I 

don't know -- _communicating_ with us somehow. I had 

the same dream last night. It ended with all of them 

sliced to ribbons on the stone floor, right? It was 

so vivid. I couldn't sleep afterwards, so I got up 

to check on the equipment. I was on my way to the 

poolroom when I ran into you." He ran both hands 

through his hair and laughed. "How else would I 

find this journal? How else would I know to be in 

that corridor just when you needed me? I was _led _

by it!"

"Are you trying to suggest that there is something 

in this house that's trying to _help_ us, Mulder? 

Because forgive me, but I don't see anything 

benevolent here." She gestured at her scratched 

arm.

"No," he replied, face grave. "I don't think 

there's anything good here. But I do think it likes 

to play with people. That it does nothing that 

doesn't benefit itself."

The entire foundation seemed to groan beneath them. 

Scully clutched Mulder's arm. "Should we try the 

doors and windows again?"

He nodded and they both got up. Working their way 

from the sitting room to the living room, they 

tried every window again, but to no avail. Mulder 

stood before the front door, hand poised over the 

handle. He looked at Scully.

"What do you want to bet this is still locked?" He 

turned the knob. 

"Scully! It's open!" 

She ran to join him, smiling with relief. "Oh, 

thank God."

But her relief was short lived. As soon as she got 

near the door, it slammed with enough force to 

rattle the walls, taking Mulder with it. 

"No," she said, stunned. "No! Let us _go_!" she 

pounded on the door, screaming now. "_Let us go_!"

The house responded with a series of creaks and 

groans. "Scully," Mulder said quietly, eyes on the 

staircase opposite the door. "Scully, you have to 

calm down." She sobbed, still pounding and 

demanding the door to open. He pulled her into a 

tight embrace. "Scully, you have to calm down!"

Her hysterics subsided, but her eyes grew wide as 

she listened to the house. Somewhere deep within, 

came the sound of breaking glass. From where they 

stood, pools of light could be seen from several 

different rooms. One by one, each of these pools 

were extinguished with the _pop_ of blown light 

bulbs. The sounds of creaking increased, but they 

were nothing, _nothing_ compared to the terrible 

wailing that now filled the air.

Both agents stepped away from the door, standing 

back-to-back in the instinctive pose they'd been 

taught at the Academy. Objects flew from the 

tables, from the shelves to break against the 

opposite walls. Footsteps pounded to and fro above 

them as if someone were running across the 

floorboards. The air became chilly and smelled of 

sulfur with an undertone of something much worse, 

something dead and rotting and evil. They were 

defenseless. 

The door banged open, taking some plaster from the 

wall with it. Mulder and Scully turned quickly to 

see what was happening, then turned to each other 

in disbelief. Was it letting them go? Or was this 

another one of its tricks? Deciding to take their 

chances, they both started toward the door when a 

strong force pushed one of them from behind, then 

another, sending them tumbling over the porch and 

down the stairs.

The door slammed shut again. The house was 

quiet. 

As they retreated, Scully thought she understood 

what Sabrina Talbot meant when she said she sensed 

the house was laughing at her family. She sensed 

the very same.


	7. Epilogue

~ Epilogue ~

...Furthermore, there is no scientific explanation 

for the events that took place on the days of 

October 27th - 28th, 1997, nor for the sudden means 

of escape.  Agent Mulder returned the following 

week to fulfill his obligations to the case without 

my direct assistance, as he felt my safety was at 

risk. Despite my protestations, a small team of 

paranormal investigative researchers accompanied 

him instead. All attempts to recover the data left 

behind proved futile, as all evidence had been 

tampered with, erased and otherwise compromised. 

Further investigation was unsuccessful due to the 

investigative team's extreme discomfort and 

equipment failure. Agent Mulder felt a 

responsibility to the safety of future inhabitants 

to request the property be destroyed. The house has 

since been declared an historical landmark by the 

Camden Historical Preservation Society, and 

therefore exempt from any petitions to tear it 

down. The house is now up for sale.

There have been no more reports of noises coming 

from the Talbot's estate. Agent Mulder asserts that 

it's merely lying dormant, waiting for its next 

occupants.

Case # X-816973 remains unsolved.

~ The End ~ 


End file.
